


All On You

by trevelies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon compliant up to 14.9, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Michael Possessing Dean Winchester, Sam's a good brother, Season/Series 14 Speculation, The Spear Speculation, and Jack needs to work on his slang, cas is a good friend, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-15 10:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16931430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trevelies/pseuds/trevelies
Summary: "The Spear" speculation. Dean's vision is swimming - literally. But Team Free Will 2.0 has much bigger problems. The angels have finally located Michael, and the Winchesters have Kaia's Spear, an angel and a half, and about three weeks of bad memories to take out on Michael's feathery ass.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the promo. I suck at titles.

There’s no one at the front of the building.

“That’s weird, right?” Jack says, muffled from where he's stuffed into the back seat with Cas.

Sam shrugs from the front seat of the Impala, glancing over at his brother checking his weapons over a third and fourth time. Dean looks up, catches Sam’s look.

“What, like I should know?” He snaps gruffly, slamming the magazine into the gun.

“No one is saying that, Dean.” Sam replies softly. Soothingly. He knows better than the others what Dean is going through, if on a much smaller scale.

Dean doesn’t say anything, and silence fills the car for a few minutes. The windows begin to fog with their impatient stake out, and Dean rolls down his window a few inches to let in some fresh air. It doesn’t help.

“What if he’s not there?” Dean asks, and everyone pretends he hasn’t asked the same question before. “What if your angel pals lied _again,_ Cas?”

“They didn’t lie. As far as Heaven knows, Michael is there. He’s here.” Cas answers calmly. His gravelly voice usually soothes Dean, but today it grates. He remembers Jimmy’s voice, even if it was only for a few hours. Jimmy was softer – less mileage. Did Michael change _his_ voice? Dean doesn’t know what the worse option is.

Without warning, his vision swims as if a bucket of water has been dumped on his head. He blinks, waiting for it to pass. When it doesn’t, he rubs his eyes roughly.

He hears his brother ask something from a great distance, and Dean jumps when he feels a hand grip his shoulder.

His vision clears.

“What?” He asks gruffly, his brother back in 20/20 technicolor view.

“I said, are you okay?” And there Sam goes – forehead scrunched with worry, eyes getting all dewy. Dean’s going to be sick. His hand finds the door release, and he nearly tumbles out of the car in his hurry to get out. He doesn’t catch Jack’s alarmed question, his ears are ringing and his stomach is clenching and he’s hot – he’s really, really hot, and his vision is going again – it’s worse this time, somehow it’s worse, and he might never see – it’s like being under water again, he can’t do that, he can’t be gone again, he –

“ _Dean!”_ And the episode is over, just at the sound of his brother’s voice. Dean blinks, and he’s leaning against the Impala. The metal is cold under his hot palm, and he straightens, turning to face his brother who’s already come around the front of the car. His hands are raised as if Dean is going to collapse.

“I’m fine.” He says, knowing that no one will believe him. Sam has the horrified look back on his face and Cas and Jack are climbing out of the Impala. Dean turns his back on his brother, heading for the reprieve of the trunk. He jacks it open, but his brother is already stepping into view.

“Dean, what the hell was that?” Sam says, louder than he should when they’re on a goddamn stake out.

“Sam, back off. I’m fine. I’m just tired.” He moves around the bags that have shifted during their long drive. He roughly shoves aside laundry bags, ammo boxes, hex bags until his hands close on the spear. He pulls it out almost reverently, and shivers. This is the weapon that will end Michael, that will finally let him sleep at night again. He shuts the trunk. Cas and Sam are exchanging glances over the Impala. Dean scowls.

“Cas, why don’t you and Jack do a walk around the building? See if we missed anything.”

Cas nods slowly, glancing carefully at Dean. “Keep your phones on.” He says, and then he nudges Jack along, and they quietly disappear into the rapidly approaching darkness.

“Never thought I’d hear an angel giving me phone etiquette.” Dean says dryly, twisting the spear in his hands.

“Yeah.” Sam agrees vaguely. There’s a beat of silence, Dean’s knuckles white on the spear, Sam’s arms crossed like he’s about to lecture Dean for the millionth time to not drink on the job or chew with his mouth open or some shit. Dean takes a breath, feeling like a dick for his darkening mood. It’s no one’s fault but his own. It always is.

“You’ve been doing that a lot recently.” Sam finally says, and he takes a few steps towards Dean and leans against the Impala, casual except for that look in his eyes.

“Doing?”

“Rubbing your eyes like you’re trying to get rid of them.”

Dean huffs a laugh, tries to ease the tensions from his shoulders. “Yeah, I don’t know. Stress or something. Little blurry sometimes. Maybe we’re getting old, Sammy.”

His brother’s lips almost twitch into a smile. “Time for glasses, Dean?”

“ _Fuck_ no.” Dean answers emphatically.

There’s another silence, but it’s easier. Until it’s not.

“Do you think…” Sam pauses, and Dean doesn’t know the end of the question, but he knows his brother, and he knows that tone.

“Spit it out, Sam.”

“Do you think it’s… a side effect?”

There it is.

“Side effect of being ridden hard and put away wet? Being an archangel condom?”

Sam’s bitch face makes a partial appearance, like the moon behind clouds. “I’m serious, Dean.”

Dean flips the spear in his hands, anxious but not wanting to show it. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Sam. I’m obviously new at this. No, I don’t think it’s a _side effect._ And even if it was… we saw what happened to Raphael’s first vessel. You think I’d rather be drooling and getting rolled around a hospital by hot nurses? Actually, on second thought…”

Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean knows he’s cracked the concerned brother visage. He presses in for the kill. “Look, we got capital M Much more important things to worry about than whether or not Michael gave me cataracts. I just want to gank the sonofabitch, and then maybe Weekend at Bernie’s the poor sucker that he jumped into. We good?”

Sam is frowning again, but Dean knows that he’s willing to take a step back when it comes to the weeks Dean spent possessed. It was different than the months – fuck, _decades –_ Dean spent in hell. And maybe it’s the years that have gone by since, or the thousands of drinks that it took to get over it, but Dean’s weeks as the meat suit of a psychotic archangel are still the thing of nightmares.

Dean realizes Sam has been talking, and forces himself up for air. Luckily Sam hasn’t noticed his inattention.

“ – new vessel for Michael? Wonder how he got them to say yes.” Sam finishes his thought, and Dean hasn’t caught enough to respond properly, but tries.

“The bigger question is how many people has Michael burned through since he let me go.”

Sam sighs. “Dean, you know that isn’t what I meant.”

“I know, Sammy. Doesn’t mean I sleep better.”

Sam looks like he wants to say more, but two figures trudge into view. Cas and Jack approach cautiously, unsure if they’re interrupting something.

Dean debates ripping the Band-Aid off. After all, Cas would know more about angel possession and side effects than he and Sam would, but Dean can’t get the words out. What difference would it make? Michael is gone. What’s done is done.

“Anything new?” Dean asks instead, and Cas seems relieved that Dean isn’t dry heaving on the ground.

“No, all entrances are clear of any sort of guards, though the building is warded against angel surveillance. Possibly this is how the angels of Heaven knew Michael was here.”

“Well, I’m not getting prettier waiting outside. Let’s see if Michael’s rolled out the welcome mat. Jack, anything you want to say before we introduce the pointy end of a spear into your Uncle Mike?”

Jack looks thoughtful. “No.” He says finally, “Let’s pop this zit.”

“Jack, that’s just… we need to work on your slang, kiddo.”

 

The doors to building aren’t locked, but that doesn’t make Sam feel any less… watched. He glances at his brother’s back, and the well-known spike of fear pierces his stomach. Not that he would even dare to suggest it out loud, but he’s not comfortable that Dean is here.

His brother is 1 for 2 when it comes to saying yes to Michael, and Michael knows how to push Dean’s buttons. Dean spouts off about the common good and not choosing blood over the world, but somehow, he always does. And somehow it always works out. Until one day when it won’t.

Without wanting to, Sam remembers the night in the church when he saw his brother wiped clean from his own body. They’ve been hit with enough body-switching, de-aging and whatever other crap the job has thrown at them over the years, but to see his brother slip through his fingers right in front of him was agony. He saw Michael’s gruesome handiwork as they tracked him down, and he didn’t even know if Dean was even alive in there. Now he knew better. Dean was alive – alive and trapped inside his own body without even an inkling of what was going on, if he would ever resurface again.

It’s horrifying. No one would survive that without having some scars. Sam glances at the spear clenched in his brother’s hand, and remembers that some scars aren’t just mental. At least Dean didn’t remember – fully – the stabbing part of Michael’s roadshow.

They clear the first floor, opening offices, checking cubicles, but come up empty. It shouldn’t be eerie - an empty office at night, but it is.

“Should we split up?” Jack asks as they find the unblocked stairwell to the next floor.

“Absolutely not.” Sam says quickly. “We only have one weapon to kill Michael. We’re not going to risk running into him without it.”

Jack nods sagely, taking no offense. “If the spear doesn’t work, I will do what I can to defeat Michael.”

Dean’s expression is pained when he looks over at their young protégé. Sam knows his face must look the same. “Listen, kid.” Dean begins, and he hands the spear to Cas, who takes it gently in his hands. “The angel mojo-spell-whatever that Lily laid down on you is only going to keep you alive if you’re idling the engine, you understand? No powerups, Super Mario.”

If they were anywhere else, doing any other thing, Sam would have rolled his eyes. But they’re here, going up against one of the most powerful enemies they’ve ever faced, and Dean was still shoving aside his fears to reassure Jack. Sam never would have thought that one day they’d be marching towards possible death with an angel best friend and a Nephilim pseudo-son at their side. If only Dad were around to see how –

“Quiet.” Cas intones, and they all halt on the landing of the next floor. It’s distant – but there is movement on this floor.

“Probably some of Michael’s super wolves.” Sam breathes, and he and Dean unsheathe their machetes. Jack follows suit.

Cas cautiously opens the door, and they step out onto a darkened floor. Ambient light from exit signs and computer screens light their way, and they carefully make their way towards the source of the sounds. Cas leads, the spear at the ready, and Jack follows. Sam knows he should be checking the room, but he can’t tear his eyes off Jack, and painfully remembers how only a few short days ago, Jack was another corpse in the bunker that Sam would have to burn. Was it wrong to bring him and Dean here? But were he and Cas enough to stop Michael? Sam had the horrible and sudden realization that if anything went wrong tonight, Sam was offering up his brother – the Michael Sword – and the only two weapons - the spear and Jack – to Michael on a silver platter.

With a sick feeling, Sam turns to face his brother to reassure himself that everything was going to be fine. Instead, he sees that Dean had stopped several yards back, and was roughly rubbing at his eyes again.

“Dean!” Sam hisses, and that’s the moment when all hell breaks loose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure - I gave up on Supernatural a few years ago. But the biggest let down for me was always Season 5 when I was cheated out of glorious Michael!Dean. So when I found out that it was happening, it was HAPPENING, I caught up, and to be honest, I still felt a little cheated??? But that's all going to change this midseason finale, I can feel it in my bones. Hopefully I'll have the whole fic out before the episode airs - maybe 2-3 chapters. I tend to go back and change little things, so there might be minor edits as we go. Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Dean’s vision is swimming, but he knows that the lights have turned on suddenly – and that cannot be anywhere in the neighborhood of good.

“Gentlemen.” A voice greets, and Dean’s vision abruptly clears.

The lights have indeed turned on, and reveal what Dean feared – they’re surrounded by Michael Monsters.

Sam ignores the circle of death, barreling back towards Dean. A raised hand fists itself into Dean’s canvas jacket, face washed in concern. When Dean makes clear eye contact, Sam relaxes – as much as someone can relax in the situation. Dean gently pries Sam’s hand off, and looks over his giant bear shoulders to see a woman.

She’s clearly in charge, as the surrounding goons glance in her direction every few seconds. She’s hot – in a corporate business bitch kind of way. Who –

“Michael.” Sam breathes, and Dean’s world tilts on its axis. _Michael._ But it’s like the name isn’t a word, it’s a fucking _experience._ And Dean can’t take a breath, can’t seem to look anywhere but at New Michael, and his hand is clenched so tightly on the machete that he thinks he might break bones.

New Michael tilts her head, “You think…” She pauses, considering. Her gaze shifts to Dean and her eyes flare bright with grace. Fuck fuck fuck _fuck._ “Welcome back to the family, Dean.”

Dean tears his eyes away finally, looking around the loose circle of New Michael’s goons.

“Dean.” Sam says in an undertone. Dean catches Sam’s eye and follows his nod to one of the Michael Monsters in the back.

“ _Garth_?” And it’s out of his mouth before he can clamp it down.

Garth is the absolute last person that Dean would ever have expected to see. If he had sat down with a pad of paper and made a list back at the Bunker, Garth wouldn’t have even made the top 100 guesses.

Garth doesn’t react – and that’s frightening. In fact, he looks at Dean like he’s never seen him before, like Dean shouldn’t even know his name.

“I have to say,” New Michael begins, and Dean’s focus snaps back to New Michael. “this went much smoother than I expected.”

Because of course it was a trap. When was it ever not a trap? Fucking _angels_.

New Michael tilts her head at Dean, “Nothing to say, Dean?”

Dean wants to whip out a witty rejoinder, something casual and probably derogatory. He wants this to feel like any other hunt, like this is any other demon or monster. But he’s so filled with fear and fury and hate and self-loathing that he can’t get any words out past his throat.

 New Michael frowns at him, and shrugs. “Well, like the humans say - no time like the present. Get the vessel and the spear, take care of the rest.”

The room bursts into chaos. But chaos is good.

Dean can handle chaos.

Cas shoves past Backwards-Hat Douchebag, sending him flying across the space and into a cubicle, which collapses around him. Cas flips the spear in his hands, and charges at New Michael, who doesn’t so much as blink. Dean takes a step towards them to back Cas up, but a pair of hands grab him from behind, and he’s thrown several feet. He skids into a desk leg, and pain radiates up his back for a moment before the adrenaline kicks in and everything else but the fight in front of him fades into the background. He’s on his feet in a second, hefting the machete he managed to hang on to. His opponent – the dark-clothed woman that couldn’t have been more than 110 pounds soaking wet – is already nearly on top of him. He swings out with the machete, but she dodges at the last second, and he cuts only through her thick coat.

Dean spares half a second to keep track of his family – Jack is facing off with one monster, but Sam is right behind, ready to jump in and back Jack up. Cas is…

“Help Cas!” Dean yells, and has to jump back to avoid the swing of his opponent.

Cas has lost the spear – Dean can’t see where it’s gone. But he does see that New Michael has Cas in her sights, and without that spear, he’s as good as a slick of blood on the floor. Cas charges in anyway, and New Michael neatly side-steps him, catching his arm and ramming him face-first into a nearby supply cabinet. Dean checks on the other fight – Sam has neatly decapitated the scruffy super wolf targeting Jack, and is already pivoting towards Cas when another monster appears behind Sam with a painful-looking baseball bat.

“Behind you!” Jack yells, lunging forward, but it’s too late. The bat comes down on the back of Sam’s head, and Sam hits the ground like the huge sack of potatoes he is.

“ _Sam_!” Dean yells, and instead of blurring, this time his vision goes red. He leaps forward hastily, and feels the ripping against his side as the woman rakes her claws in an attempt to slice and dice. He brings up his machete, and in a quick and clean jerk, her head rolls at her feet. He shoves aside her body and starts to run towards his brother.

Cold relief rushes through his bones as he sees Jack helping a disoriented Sam to his feet. The attacker has neatly lost his head, seemingly from a well-executed take down from Jack. Sam is rubbing the back of his head, but he sees Dean hurrying towards them. His eyes widen in warning, and instantly Dean knows that he’s fucked up, he wasn’t careful, didn’t pay attention, and something bad is happening.

“Sorry about this, Dean.”

Dean spins to face the source of the voice, but something collides with his head and everything goes black.

 

His ears are ringing and his vision is still blurry, but Sam tracks the blur that is his brother running towards them. Blood oozes forgotten from Dean’s side, but his eyes are bright with fear and the blood that drips off his machete marginally lessens Sam’s first instinct of _something bad, something bad._

His vision settles, and he accepts Jack’s help, when there – behind Dean, Garth appears with superhuman speed.

Sam’s first thought is _Garth, thank God._

Sam’s second thought is _Fuck._

Even across the room, Sam can read the torment in their friend’s eyes. “Sorry about this, Dean.”

Dean is too slow to avoid the blow. Garth swings for the fences, and the table leg connects solidly with Dean’s head, and his eyes roll back.

“ _No_!” Sam yells, and fights against the lingering dizziness to get to his brother. Garth is already tugging at the unconscious Dean’s arm, dragging him towards a set of doors on the other side of the room.

“Sam, we need to help Cas!” Jack yells into his ear. “Dean will be okay! They need him alive!”

Sam tears his eyes away from his brother, and sees that Jack is right – Cas can’t take on Michael alone without the spear. “Jack, find the spear. I’ll help Cas.”

Sam casts a last desperate look at his brother, and has to pray that Garth won’t do anything (else) to his brother. Dean is the Michael Sword – surely, he is the least expendable person in the room, and Michael wouldn’t give sloppy orders regarding her prized vessel.

With a dizzy false start that ends with him ramming his knee painfully against a chair, Sam finally makes his way to Cas, and sees that the angel is barely conscious. Michael has put Cas through the ringer, and a bloodied Cas weakly tries to fend off Michael’s blows. Sam knows his prayer will go unheard as he launches himself at the archangel. He catches her unawares, and manages to heave her off Cas.

Sam slowly finds his sense of balance, and only spares half a second with the thought, _Wasn’t that too easy?_ He crouches by Cas, hoping to get the angel on his feet before Michael rears up for round 2.

He’s hardly gotten the groggy Cas into a sitting position before Michael is already stalking towards them, looking pristine and energized. “That was grade A fucking stupid.” She says, and again, Sam is struck by the _wrongness_ of this Michael. Like something is off, like it’s not even –

“Hold on, Sam!”

And Jack is suddenly there, spear in hand. Sam wants to tell him to stop, to take a second to analyze the situation, but Jack is already moving. He takes a wild, inexperienced stab at Michael’s abdomen. She even has enough time to smirk as she sweetly rips the spear from his grasp, and twists the boy’s arm until he hits the ground with a painful grunt.

“And here she is.” Michael says fondly, looking over the spear. Jack struggles in her grasp, but she hardly gives him a glance. “Have to say – I’m almost surprised to see that this actually exists.”

And there’s the feeling of wrongness again, fear dripping down Sam’s back like cold ice water. Because unless Dean and Cas and Dark Kaia were all wrong, wouldn’t Michael know that the spear was real? Sam vividly pictures the scar that marks his brother’s arm, and knows that even Michael wouldn’t forget one of the only weapons that can actually kill her.

The thought is slow to form, the realization is hardly there. But Sam’s never been slow, and he’s never been naïve.

Before all the pieces can click together, Michael holds up her hand. A pulse of bright light slams into Sam’s retinas, and it’s the last thing he remembers for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay - so I suck at writing fight scenes. Sue me. (Please don't sue me.)
> 
> We know from the episode description and from the promo that I'm doing some things wrong. I couldn't figure out how to work in some bits, and rather than force it, here is my stripped down (lazy) version. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Sam’s been knocked unconscious more times than he can reasonably count. Eventually he figures that’s going to catch up to him. But he’s still young. Relatively young. Sort of young.

_Maybe we’re getting old, Sammy._

_Time for glasses, Dean?_

Sam’s eyes crack open. He’s slumped against a wall in some kind of executive’s office. His vision is still slowly booting up, but he sees Cas blinking mournfully at him from a few feet away. He turns to his other side, and sees an unconscious Jack sprawled next to him. To his relief, Dean has been dumped unceremoniously closer to the center of the room, out of reach. Sam’s attempts to drag himself to his brother are quickly aborted when he realizes his hands are cuffed behind his back to a heavy-duty office cabinet. Typical.

He double checks, and the rest of them are similarly trussed up, albeit with cuffs engraved with Enochian symbols. Sam’s memory is a little foggy, but he remembers… Michael. Light. Dean. Blood. And a sense of lingering _wrongness_ that pulses tight in his stomach like nausea.

“Cas, you okay?” Sam asks in a low voice, and tries his best to visually check Jack over, hampered without the use of his hands.

“As much as can be expected.” Cas deadpans. Sam catches his worried expression falling on their two unconscious members. Before Sam can respond, the closed double doors burst open with the same dramatic excess force that always seems characteristic of their new monster of the week. Michael walks in almost casually, flanked by Garth and the first powered up monster that Cas dispatched. She ignores them all, stepping over Cas as if he is nothing more than a lump in the carpet. She leans over the still out-cold Dean, and rolls him slightly to double check that the cuffs are secure. When she lets go, he rolls onto his back.

Michael abruptly slaps Dean hard across the jaw, and Cas and Sam jump. No reaction from Dean. “Hey!” Sam yells before he can stop himself, and Michael frosts him with a look. Without leaving Dean’s side, she turns and fixes her gaze on Garth. “Did you have to hit him so hard?”

Garth is looking at Sam when he answers. “Yes.”

Michael lets out an impatient grunt, and inspects Dean’s ribs on his wounded side. “Michael is going to be pissed.”

It takes about five seconds for that to sink in. Sam’s body reacts before his mind catches up – his heart rate speeds to double time and he pulls ineffectively on his cuffs again.

“What does that mean?” Sam demands, “If you’re not Michael, where is he?”

Not Michael studies Sam. “He’s around.” She looks over her shoulder at Cas, and then back at her two compatriots guarding the door. “To tell the truth, we all thought you would figure this game out a lot faster.”

Cas’ expression of confusion and fear surely is reflected on Sam’s own face. They make eye contact, and Cas shakes his head. He has faith in the angels’ intel. Sam isn’t so sure.

Something catches Sam’s gaze over Cas’ shoulder. Garth is staring at Sam hard, like he’s trying to force his thoughts across the room and into Sam’s brain. Sam frowns. Garth isn’t number one on his list of trusted confidants at the moment, as his brother’s unconscious form would attest.

Another figure enters the room – a Not Michael henchmen that Sam didn’t see earlier. The woman pauses and takes in the scene, appreciating the clear victory for the supernatural. The smirk disappears the moment she sees the dangerously arched eyebrow on Not Michael’s face.

“We… we found the car. Their car.” She nods at Sam. “No sign of any other backup. And as far as we can tell, Mary Winchester and Bobby Singer haven’t left the cabin.”

Not Michael gives a dismissive wave, and the new addition backs away towards the door, where she posts up with the other two. Not Michael is back to checking Dean over for hidden injuries, and it’s surreal to see a… whatever she is giving the impression of caring about Dean’s well-being. Though he supposes he has to take that with a grain of salt considering she probably just wants to make sure that Michael is getting his Sword back in mint condition.

“Where is Michael?” Cas asks again, his gravelly voice quiet with anger.

“Okay, boys.” Not Michael says finally, giving no indication that she’s even heard Cas. She straightens from her crouch, appearing to give up hope on Dean’s waking soon. “Let’s think hard about this. Let’s think _real_ hard.”

She stalks closer to where Sam and Jack are secured. “Let’s see if you can find the hidden message without your Scooby-Doo decoder rings. Let’s go way back. Why do you think that Michael would give up his Sword? His one true Vessel? The only thing on this godforsaken planet that is powerful enough to contain him? You think the _Archangel Michael_ would give up _Dean Winchester_ because your little band of merry pricks is close to finding him? I have never seen higher reaches of human fucking arrogance.”

Sam shifts uncomfortably. His hair is in his face, but it doesn’t obscure the looming figure standing over him.

“And yet, you all just moved the hell on. Why bother trying to figure out _why_ Dean was back in the driver’s seat? _Isn’t it enough that’s he’s back?_ Who knows why Michael hit the road? Who _cares_?” Not Michael’s expression is smooth and calm, but her voice drips with venom and condescension.

“Fine.” Sam spits out. “So we hit a dead end. So we don’t know why Michael left. What were we supposed to do?”

“You could have looked _harder._ ” Not Michael exclaims, and her eyes snap white with grace. Garth and the other goons flinch back against the wall. Sam maintains eye contact, not backing down an inch. He got that from his father, from his brother. “Look _deeper._ ” And she takes a step to the side, and gestures widely at Dean. “Look _again._ ” Her mouth curls into a cruel smile, and it’s like she’s standing in the middle of a storm, waiting for the lightning to hit.

And when it hits, it _hits._

Sam finds the last puzzle piece under the box, and when it snaps into place, he still can hardly see the full picture.

Hundreds of his own questions and doubts pop up in his memory, hundreds of questions and doubts that he ignored because he was so goddamn _relieved._ He was relieved that his brother was back, was alive. And so what if Dean was distant sometimes, so what if he was rough around the edges _._ So what if Sam caught him staring off into space sometimes, and knew that Dean was reliving the horrors of his weeks imprisoned in his own body? They’d gotten through worse. Dean would be okay. Dean was free, Dean was home. Dean was _Dean._ But now doubts bubble in from the cracks. Dean rubbing his eyes constantly, like he can’t see, like something else is looking out instead. Like why Dean can’t actually remember Michael leaving, why Dean didn’t seem to have any negative side effects from being the vessel of Michael.

 _Like being chained to a comet,_ Jimmy Novak says from a memory a lifetime ago.

You don’t just bounce back from sharing space with an Archangel. Unless –

“Michael never left Dean.” Sam doesn’t realize he’s even voiced the repulsive realization out loud until he catches Cas’ expression. All blood drains from the angel’s face, and his eyes drop to Dean’s unconscious form. Guilt and loathing are equal parts in Cas’ eyes, and it’s too surreal to see Cas directing that kind of hatred and fear at Dean.

But it wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t _only_ Dean.

“Yahtzee.” Not Michael says, and her attractive face splits into a blinding smile. It’s monstrous.

Sam’s eyes slip down to his brother, whose face is white with blood loss and the blow to the head. It is still Dean, right? Michael couldn’t have faked weeks as Dean. Sam would have seen the signs, he would have known. And if Dean is Dean, then can he kick Michael out right here and right now?

“ _Dean_!” He yells from across the room. “Dean, wake up!”

And at his brother’s voice, Dean actually stirs. His eyebrows narrow slightly, like someone who needs to wake up but only wants to hit the snooze button.

“Get them out of here.” Not Michael orders abruptly. “Throw them in that bitch car of theirs and set it on fire. I don’t care. Get them out.” She leans over Dean, obscuring Sam’s view of his brother.

Garth grabs Sam by the cuffs, but Sam is too busy struggling to get a better view of Dean, to make sure he’s okay, to make sure he’s still _Dean._

He feels Garth snap the handle of the cabinet, and begin to drag him to his feet. Sam struggles, but despite Garth’s appearances, he’s juiced up with whatever Michael’s been dosing his experiments with, and Sam can’t so much as shake Garth off.

“Sam, come on.” Garth whispers so only Sam can hear. “We need to get out of here.”

“Not without Dean!” Sam roars, still trying to break Garth’s hold. The bruised back of his head collides with the cabinet, and Sam grunts with pain and sees stars, but he doesn’t stop fighting. Garth easily restrains him.

At his side, Jack is roughly yanked to his feet by his own captor. His eyes squint open blearily. “S’m?” He says, but Sam is already being bundled out of the room on Cas’ dragging heels.

“ _Dean!_ ” Sam yells desperately over his shoulder, one last time. He tries to catch a last glimpse of his brother as he’s manhandled around the corner. Jack is more alert now, and his blue eyes bore fearfully into Sam’s.

“Sam, what’s going to happen?”

And Sam wishes he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably just one more chapter after this. Thank you all very much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

Dean hears his brother’s voice, and it pulls him from the dark.

“Sam?” He tries groggily, and he slits his eyes open. It’s blurry – but normal, concussion blurry. Dean never thought he’d be relieved to say that.

He groans and hefts himself up into a sitting position. His hands are bound behind his back, but he isn’t tethered to anything and his feet are free. Amateurs. He once drove across three state lines handcuffed, and the hardest part of _that_ experience was writing down his number for the girl behind the gas station counter.

“Morning.” Greets a crisp voice behind him. Dean is so startled that he yanks against the cuffs, and they dig painfully into his skin. He jerks his head around and scoots away (manly, of course) on his ass a few paces.

New Michael is leaning against a desk. Her arms are crossed, and she looks thoughtful and serene as she considers the captive hunter at her feet.

Dean’s fear is palpable, even to himself. His heart beats in a rhythm _Michael Michael Michael._ He tries to clamp it down and forces himself to stay in the present. He doesn’t need to relive the weeks spent treading water in his own psyche. He already relives that every night.

“You son of a bitch.” He spits, and rises unsteadily to his feet. “Just do whatever you want. Really, I mean it - just go to fucking town. I’ll punch my ticket Dean Winchester Style because I’m not saying yes ever again.”

New Michael smiles, but it’s cruel, like she’s enjoying a private joke. “I’m not here to make you say yes, Dean. You already did.”

“We had a _deal._ You agreed – a one-time deal. We zap your brother, you’re fucking _welcome_ by the way, and then you piss off and go back to your own fucked up universe. And then you go and - ”

“I’m not Michael.” She interrupts, and he cannot even begin to guess the reaction she’s hoping to get out of him.

Dean’s mouth hangs open slack. “You…” He begins, but loses the words before they can form.

And is it bad that he’s in the worst situation – tied up, bleeding and concussed, alone with a monster, doesn’t know where Sam, Cas, and Jack are, and he’s… relieved?

Not Michael sweeps some papers off the desk, and takes a seat. It’s like the beginning of every bad porno Dean’s ever seen. “Your brother already figured it out. The others are taking care of him and your other hunter pals as we speak. After all,” she smiles sweetly, “Michael’s an only child now. Why shouldn’t you be?”

“Thanks for the family tree update, more hot Sheryl Sandberg. But I know my brother, and I wouldn’t bet against Sam just yet.”

Not Michael doesn’t look amused anymore. And for a second, Dean can see a flicker of the true monster lurking behind her face. “I don’t know why you have so much faith in your family. It’s not like they were able to s _ave_ you. How many weeks did you spend experimenting on monsters, ripping apart humans? I especially loved your work in Ithaca. I didn’t even know you could open a person up like that. Really makes you think about the possibilities of dental school.”

Dean’s stomach turns. Of course he doesn’t remember what she’s talking about, but his hands clench behind his back. “That wasn’t me.”

“Oh, come on, Dean.” And she’s up off the desk and in his personal space before he can even blink. Her manicured hand connects painfully with his upper chest, and he flies backwards, hitting the ground painfully. He grunts and tries to recover quickly to avoid any oncoming blows, but Not Michael seems content to glare down at him.

“Not _you_? Of course it was you. Whose pretty green eyes do you think were the last that the dying saw? Whose hands ended their miserable lives? Don’t be naïve, Dean. You can play the consent card all you want, but that goes two ways. No one made you say yes to Michael. All the bloodshed, all the death. All on you.”

And Dean knows that. Of course he knows that. Every leftover newspaper clipping he finds stuffed in Sam’s books in the Bunker, every detailed crime scene covered by reporters who can only scratch their heads and lock their doors after witnessing the aftermath of such brutality. All that was only possible because Dean said _yes._ Because Dean looked under the bed and let the monster in.

Not Michael knows she’s hit her mark, and she leans back against the desk satisfied. Dean isn’t stupid enough to try getting to his feet again.

A tense moment passes. Then Dean looks around, “Where’s the spear?”

“Safe. Waiting for Michael.” She answers without missing a beat. She’s staring at Dean like she’s looking for something.

“Waiting for Michael. Is that what we’re doing?” He hopes that Sam and Cas got Jack away safe. He doesn’t see how he’s going to get out of this mess without them.

“Sure. That’s what we’re doing.” Again, her look is fucking peculiar.

And then it happens again – Dean’s vision blurs out and he can’t seem to focus his eyes past the blurry curtain of rushing water. But it’s worse this time, like back in the Impala. His insides are burning, and he’s not sure if he wants to vomit or pass out. It’s like his entire body is going to split at the seams, pouring out everything that Dean is: whiskey, canvas, and a bad attitude. And Dean hasn’t felt this bad since that church, he hasn’t felt anything like this since –

“Michael?” A female voice says, and Dean can’t remember who that is, he can’t remember where he is or what is happening. And the soft voice asks again, full of reverence and hope: “Michael?”

All pain stops instantly, and his vision drops back into place like the falling of a stage curtain. The physical pain is gone – but a much, much worse pain has been realized.

“No.” Dean Winchester says, and that one word encapsulates so much horror and dread and loathing, that Dean would rather have the pain.

 _Hello, Dean._ A voice – _the_ voice – reverberates around in his head like it will never stop.

“ _No._ ”

But it can’t be. Wouldn’t Dean have _known_? Wouldn’t he have felt _him_? How could Michael be in his head for _weeks_ and Dean not known about it? Cas checked – Cas would have known. Cas would have felt a fucking archangel squatting around in Dean’s head like a freeloader half-cousin.

 _Who do you think you’re talking to? You think_ Castiel _could have found me if I didn’t want to be found? Come on, Winchester, you’re not that stupid._

Dean thinks back to the days and weeks where he didn’t suspect a thing.

And Michael’s amusement fills up Dean’s head like exhaust. _Well. Maybe you really are._

There’s no chance of Dean fighting it. An explosion of grace light and sound fills the room, and Dean can physically feel the heat melting him out of his own body. He can’t even squint his eyes through the burning light, or cover his ears to block out the sounds of shattering windows.

Finally, after an eternity, the light fades, and Not Michael lifts her hands from where she was protecting her face.

“Thanks for the warning.” She comments dryly.

“Excuse me?” Replies a new voice, and it takes Dean too long to realize that that’s _his_ voice. He tries to say something, say _anything._ He tries to move an arm, a toe, an eyelid. Instead, he has a second sense of Michael snapping through the cuffs binding his wrists like they were tissues.

 _Michael, get_ out! He tries to command, but if Michael hears the echo of Dean, he doesn’t deign to reply.

Michael is now looking at Not Michael, and that means that Dean is too. Not Michael visibly pales, realizing her mistake.

“Michael, I’m… I didn’t think… I – “ She stutters, and freezes when Michael raises Dean’s – his – hand in her direction. She hits the ground instantly, writhing in pain, mouth twisted in a silent scream.

“Monster scum like you,” Michael explains, as if to a child, “do not get to speak to me like that. Ever. Now get up.” And abruptly, she stops her agonized twisting. Not Michael scrambles to her feet as quick as possible. She’s panting like a stallion, and fear mars her features.

Michael waits until she’s schooled her expression back behind her mask. “I gave you some of my grace only to make this entire plan possible. _Never_ forget I can take it away just as easily. Now get the spear and bring it to me. Now.”

Not Michael flees out the double doors, and Michael waits. He inspects Dean over, and if Dean could still feel his skin, he would be crawling out of it. Michael presses Dean’s – his – hand against Dean’s injured side, and grace pulses once through the slices of skin, and seals instantly. Dean doesn’t have to see it to know there won’t be a scar. Satisfied, Michael straightens Dean’s shirt and jacket. “Canvas again, Dean? And here I’d hoped I’d made more of an impression on your sense of fashion. At least this universe has some.”

 _Sam is going to kill you._ Dean threatens. _They’re going to get their hands on that spear and stick it where the sun don’t shine. So mark your calendar, you ass clown. Your days are numbered._

Michael doesn’t answer immediately. He steps over to the remnants of the window, inspecting Dean’s face. And it’s fucking weird and almost too much for Dean to handle, expecting to see himself and seeing… Michael. Michael leans over to get a better look at his – Dean’s – hair. He doesn’t like what he sees, and he sighs. His gaze shifts and suddenly Dean can see himself – his real self. Anger creases his eyes, his teeth click together in a tight grimace.

“I don’t see how your brother or Castiel would be able to reacquire the spear, Dean. This whole little charade of letting you go was all a ploy to let you hunters track down the spear for me. It’s called _delegation_ , Dean. Something you’ve never been able to quite get a grasp of.”

_Delegation my ass. You used me._

Michael shakes his head, feigning disappointment. It doesn’t suit Dean’s face. “I’m not surprised that’s how you would see it. You lack vision, Dean, and you always have. Now, let’s go say hello to your family. Check up on dear little brother Sam. After we put you away in your box of course.”

The reflection of Dean pales in naked fear.

“Let’s go stretch those wings, boy.”

And Dean Winchester slips through his mind like water and is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I lied. There's a tiny bit left, but I really wanted to push this chapter out tonight. So expect a mini-chapter tomorrow. Thanks to everyone reading, and for those of you leaving comments!


	5. Chapter 5

Sam flips through the newspaper to page D4.

It’s a quiet morning, something that’s become a novelty in the Bunker since the Apocalypse Universe hunters set up base camp. But most are out on jobs, or still sleeping. It’s early. Sam takes a sip of coffee, a quiet pleasure, and scans through the rest of the article.

An atrocious yawn fills the silence from behind him, but he isn’t startled. He’s expecting it.

Dean drags himself into view, and settles down heavily in a chair across from Sam. He blinks blearily at Sam for a moment, before he loops a finger through the handle of Sam’s mug and slides it across the table. It’s a testament to how tired he is that he doesn’t immediately pull a face at the milky coffee. Sam smothers a smile.

“Are you still looking for a job?” Dean says, his morning voice rough with disuse. “We already got a job.”

Dean looks like warmed over crap. Dark bags underline bloodshot green eyes, and his face is sallow as he scowls at the now-empty coffee cup. Sam knows that he hasn’t been sleeping well since Michael left the building, but in the days since learning Michael’s location from the angels, Dean’s been back to Law School levels of sleeplessness.

“Sleep well?” Sam asks mock innocently, but his concern is serious. Dean’s eyes narrow at his brother as if trying to uncover his real intentions.

“Slept like a hooker on Sunday. Full eight hours.” Dean lies, and pulls himself to his feet to get a cup of coffee.

Sam turns back to the newspaper to finish the story. Cattle are missing from a ranch out west, but it doesn’t seem like anything in their wheelhouse.

Dean sits back down, mouth already glued to the rim of his XL coffee mug. He hands Sam his own cup back, and Sam is surprised to see the perfect milky shade of his coffee. He looks up at Dean - who is flipping him off for no apparent reason - and back down at his coffee, feeling oddly touched.

Sam pushes the newspaper aside, and cups the mug with two hands.

“Hand me the comics.” Dean holds a hand out.

“No comics in this one.” Sam says, not bothering to hide his grin at his brother’s disappointment.

“What’s even the fucking –” Dean mutters, but the rest of the sentence is lost to another sip of coffee.

One of the new hunters – Jeremy – rounds the corner from the kitchen. He’s holding a plate stacked high with toast and looks like he’s about to take a seat. He pauses when he sees Dean, and his steely eyes darken. “Morning, Sam.” He says gruffly, and gives Dean a begrudging nod before spinning on his heel and heading up the hallway towards his bunk.

“Well that wasn’t awkward at all.” Dean comments dryly.

“Don’t take it personally. You know it’s not… you he’s seeing. It’s just hard for them. They’ve had a difficult time.” _Like you._

“Whatever.” Dean says dismissively, but it’s obvious he cares more than he’s letting on. “Tomorrow can’t come fast enough. I know we wanted to give Jack a little time to recuperate, but fuck me, Sam, I want to gank that feathery son of a bitch more than anything.”

Sam doesn’t reply right away. He watches Dean, sees the haunted look behind his eyes. He knows that Dean suffers from incredible guilt after saying yes to Michael, but it can’t be any more than what Sam feels now – knowing that Dean only let Michael in to save him from Lucifer. He and Dean have been through so much that he’s surprised that he can even still _be_ surprised. They’re family, but it hasn’t always been easy. They’re both self-sacrificingly selfless and extremely selfish, they’re two sides of the same coin and also on two separate sides of the planet sometimes. They’re family, but being _Winchesters_ is so much more than just blood.

“I know we don’t really… talk about it,” Sam begins, testing the waters. Dean’s expression slips into discomfort but he doesn’t immediately leave the table or deflect the conversation. “But it’s really, really great to have you back, Dean. I… the last few weeks you’ve been back have been… I’ve just missed this. I’ve missed us being brothers again.”

Dean’s expression warms. “Come on, Sam.” And he gives Sam the finger again, “We’re always brothers.”

 

_We’re always brothers._

Sam stumbles against an unseen parking curb and without the use of his hands for balance, nearly topples to the ground. Garth catches and steadies him at the last moment.

“Garth.” Sam tries again, for the tenth time since being forced from the building. “Garth, we need to go back, we need to get Dean. We can’t just leave him.”

“Shut the fuck up,” snaps the women dragging Jack along. “Your brother is the last thing you should be worried about right now.”

Jack tries to twist out of her grasp. He catches Sam’s eye and mouths, “Who is that?” jerking his head at Garth.

Sam turns to glare at the subject of Jack’s question and says loudly, “Someone who used to be a friend.”

Garth’s grasp loosens slightly, and Sam suddenly feels his cuffs pop open on one side. “Dear Lord, Sam, you are as impatient as my cousin Barb in rush-hour traffic.”

By the time the other two would-be executioners realize that Sam is now free, it’s too late. Cas slams sideways into the male captor, and Garth is already there to finish up. Sam charges and tackles the woman off Jack. She struggles, and he feels something sharp dig deep into his bicep. Painful, but manageable.

She tries to twist out from under him, and he grabs ahold of the cuff that’s still attached to one wrist and presses it as hard as he can against her throat. Her hands come up, trying to relieve some of the pressure and her eyes bulge. A shadow looms over him, and Garth is slightly out of breath when he says, “Yep, just hold her like that. I got this.”

And maybe some things are better left undescribed.

After, Garth uncuffs Jack and Cas. Sam checks over Jack first, unsure how Not Michael’s little “lights out” trick would affect a recovering Nephilim, and after Jack gives him an awkward thumbs up, he turns to Cas.

Cas looks beat to hell, especially with his face currently moonlighting as ground beef. It looks like it’s taking Cas a marathon effort to even stay on his feet. “I’m fine, Sam.” He grates before Sam can ask. “We need to get back to Dean. Now.”

No arguing there. Sam claps his hand down on Garth’s shoulder in a quick and sincere show of thanks, but doesn’t have time to spare. They turn back to the office complex, and run as quickly as their various injuries allow.

But they’re not fast enough. They’re not even close.

Cas senses it coming before they do. “Down!” He yells, and before anyone can even slow to a halt, a bomb goes off. A catastrophic discharge of brilliant light explodes from the building, and all the glass windows burst outwards. A high-pitched tenor, the familiar song of angels, rattles the inside of Sam’s head, and just before he hits the point of losing consciousness, the atmosphere darkens and calms.

They’re just a few steps away from what would have been certain death. Glass shards, wicked sharp and gleaming bright under the stars, litter the ground around the building.

“ _Dean_!” Sam attempts to yell, but he can’t get enough air and his voice cracks. He tries again, yells for his brother, but the building remains eerily silent.

“Sam.” Garth coughs, wiping the settling dust off his face. “Sam, it’s too late. We need to go.”

“I. Am not. Leaving him.” Sam snaps, turning blazing eyes on the man that Sam owes his life. Garth doesn’t deserve his fury, but Dean didn’t deserve a lot more.

Sam presses on, Jack and Cas at his heels. Their thick-soled shoes crunch the glass underfoot. They’re weaponless – who knows where Kaia’s spear ended up. But it doesn’t matter, no other weapon would be a match against…

And Sam finds that he can’t even finish the thought. He can’t put a real name to the horror they’re rushing to confront head-on. And that’s fucking stupid, that’s real fucking naïve. But Sam charges in through the empty frame of the automatic glass doors, and shoves open the first set of wooden doors after the receptionist desk. Cas and Jack close in on his right – Garth maybe behind them, maybe not. He doesn’t care. They hit the stairwell and Sam takes the steps three at a time. He just needs to find his brother, to make sure he’s okay, make sure he’s –

And there he is.

Dean stands casually in the center of the room. Blood still smears his side, and his hair looks like it’s been patted carefully into place. In his right hand, he holds Kaia’s spear. Dean’s hooded eyes watch as they enter, and Sam exhales sharply in relief.

“Dean, we –” Sam begins, but Cas’s hand snakes out and grabs Sam’s shoulder, dragging him back. Sam shakes Cas off, irritated.

Dean smiles. “Want to give it another guess?” The figure before them asks, and there’s not even a shred of Sam’s brother in that face.

“Michael.” Cas says flatly, only an undercurrent of his real distress making an appearance.

Michael’s smile grows. “It’s so very nice to be appreciated. And speaking of appreciation,” and he spins the spear in front of him like it’s anything _but_ the only known weapon that can kill him, “you have my sincere gratitude for tracking this down for me. It took you longer than I had anticipated, but I’m sure you all enjoyed the quality time with good old _Dean_ here.”

Jack takes an angry step forward as if to confront Michael. “Dean, you can fight him! Fight Michael!” Cas grabs him by the back of the jacket and hauls him back. As if two extra feet could prevent Michael’s wrath from raining down on them whenever he was done monologuing.

“Dean isn’t home at the moment.” Michael replies, “But don’t worry, I’ll let him know you asked about him. Right after I turn you into something… unrecognizably human. I’ll give him all the details - no one can say I’m not a gracious host.”

Sam is having a hard time breathing, and realizes that he’s on the verge of full-blown panic. Everything that could have gone wrong, went worse. For once, they had a plan, they had everything stacked up in their favor. This time, victory was literally within their grasp.

 _No,_ Sam realizes painfully, and a vision of Dean blinking hard, rubbing his eyes, trying to get them back under his control filters over Michael standing before him. _No, we weren’t even playing the same game._

“Well. You three aren’t much for conversation, I suppose. Dean will be disappointed. He’s always such a chatterbox those first few days. Then I guess this is where we part ways.” He leans the spear back against his shoulder, “Permanently.” He raises his hand, and all the doors to adjoining offices and the stairwell slam shut. They’re trapped.

Cas suddenly places his palm on the back of Sam’s neck, and Sam jumps. _Garth has a message._ He transmits.

 _Cas?_ Sam thinks stupidly. _What message?_

_“Incoming.”_

“What?” Sam says out loud, and Michael pauses.

“You’re not seriously asking for a demonst –” The end of Michael’s sentence is cut off as something tackles him from the side. He slams into the side of a support pillar with an impact that would have killed Dean. And Garth – because who else would be so noble and suicidal - was already pressing in for the final below.

“You have got to be joking.” Michael drawls, and pulls himself unharmed out of the partially collapsed pillar. He brings up his hand almost casually and Garth goes flying against the opposing wall, taking out a bookshelf full of binders and office supplies.

“Get out of here!” Garth yells, struggling to stand up.

Michael’s blazing eyes turn towards them, even as he raises his hand towards Garth a second time. “Don’t even think about –”

But Jack has already thought about it, and is already doing it. His eyes blaze inhumanly gold, and his hand connects with his and Cas’ chests hard enough to bruise. And then there’s a tugging sensation behind his navel, and the last thing that Sam sees is a wash of light and his brother’s eyes twisted in rage.

He lands hard, and lands bad. His leg is twisted underneath him, he’s done something to his ankle. He’s dizzy, and his body pulses in its own language of pain and aches. He’s disoriented to the point that it takes him a solid seven seconds to take in his surroundings and realize where he is: the main room of the Bunker.

“Jack?” He tries to say through a mouth full of cotton.

“Sam!” Cas calls, and Sam turns to see Cas kneeling over Jack. Jack is pale and shaking.

Sam curses loudly, full of fear and loss, and drags himself closer, injured ankle forgotten. “Is he…” He asks Cas, and he places his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“He’s –” Cas begins to reply, when Jack’s head suddenly whips to the side and he begins to vomit up what is unmistakably blood.

“Goddammit, Cas!” Sam cries, but Cas is already there, shoving him out of the way. The angel slaps both hands onto Jack’s chest. A bright pulse of grace jumps from Cas into Jack, and Sam has to close his eyes against the sudden light. When he can see again, Jack is unconscious, but no longer shaking or vomiting, and Cas looks exhausted.

“What did you do?” Sam says, unable to take his eyes off Jack, making sure the kid’s chest was actually moving.

Cas slumps against the table, letting Sam check over Jack. “He is fine. He just overdid it. Unsurprising, as he is being raised by Winchesters.” Cas explains, and there’s a note of fondness behind the rest of the emotions coloring his tone.

After triple checking that Jack doesn’t have any hidden injuries, Sam leans back and stretches out his leg. He winces, but the pain helps sharpen his senses.

_Dean._

He lost Dean. He lost Dean again. They lost the spear. They might have lost Garth. They just… lost. Everything.

_We’re always brothers._

Sam feels his eyes filling up and he rubs away the evidence. A hand comes down on his shoulder and squeezes carefully. He looks up, blinking against the watery film and sees Jeremy and a few other hunters. They’re armed and cautiously checking the room. Claudia and Jackson crouch next to Jack, and between the two of them, lift him and Sam watches mutely as they carry him towards the infirmary.

Jeremy helps Sam to his feet, asks the words Sam doesn’t want to hear: “Where’s Dean?”

“He’s gone.” Sam answers dully.

Jeremey lets go of Sam, and takes a step back. He considers him carefully, and Sam looks down, unable to reign in the unchecked emotions crossing his face.

“Well.” Jeremey replies finally. “Let’s go get him back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no time to double check this - sorry for mistakes! Also so much for a "short" chapter... I felt like I ended this chapter in a weird place and will probably add one more short epilogue later tonight or tomorrow. THANK YOU again for reading and for commenting!


	6. Epilogue

They move Jack to his room after it’s clear that he only needs bed rest. Sam doesn’t like the fact that Jack using any kind of supernatural abilities is possibly drawing on his soul, but he doesn’t lecture Jack. Jack knows what he did, and would make the same choice regardless. He’s a Winchester at heart, and Sam knows that Dean would be proud.

Sam’s ankle has been bound up, and all the other housekeeping items are checked off. A voicemail was left on Mary’s cell, the Bunker’s warding has been quadruple-checked, and Claudia and Jeremy are on their way to pick up the Impala from where it still (hopefully) is parked. If they drive over any of the glass, Dean is going to be pissed.

The door opens, and Cas enters. His face is clean, but his expression… his expression is probably the mirror of Sam’s.

“Hey Sam.” He rumbles. “How is your leg?”

“Can’t complain.” Sam turns back to his vigil over Jack.

Cas chuckles. “You could complain.”

Sam smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Did you hear from Garth? Is he okay?”

Cas’ smile fades. “If he survived Michael’s wrath, he hasn’t tried to contact me through prayer. Though with Heaven the way it is these days…” he crosses to the chair on Jack’s side. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t be surprised if not everything is coming in crystal clear.”

Jack groans from the bed, but it’s not a groan of pain. It’s a groan of someone trying to sleep while two people have a conversation.

“Sorry, Jack.” Sam says lightly, but he isn’t that sorry. It reminds him that Jack is okay, that he’s alive. That they’re all alive.

Jack rubs his face and cracks open his eyes. He sees Sam’s bandaged ankle resting on the side of the bed, and is careful not to jostle it as he pulls himself into a sitting position. Sam smiles sadly – realizing not for the first time how unlike his father Jack really is. “What do we do next?” Jack asks, looking from Sam to Cas.

“For now, we rest up.” Sam says. “And then we start over. Even if we have to find another universe to rip a hole in and drag one of their archangels over here. We’ll find a way to defeat Michael.”

“We’ll get Dean back.” Cas promises Jack, but he looks at Sam as he says it.

And sure – Sam is sick with worry and fear. He’s heard straight from his brother the hell he faced being possessed by Michael. He knows that Dean spent an incalculable amount of time just trying to stay afloat in the ocean of Archangel Michael.

But Sam also knows that Dean is the strongest person that he’s ever met, and the toughest. He can survive anything that Michael throws at him, because he’s Dean Winchester. And Sam has to have faith in Dean, and he needs to have faith in himself and Jack and Cas. They’ll never stop looking for a way to stop Michael, and they’ll never stop trying to save Dean. There is always a way, and just because they lost theirs doesn’t mean they won’t find another.

“I know we will.” Sam agrees, and it’s a promise.

That’s what Winchesters do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew - not a moment too soon before that midseason finale. Thank you to everyone who made it this far for sticking with me! And also thank you for not pointing out all the possible plot holes - the Supernatural writers never make it easy on us.


End file.
